An Alternative Method
by daughtersofthesun
Summary: "I'm not giving you... anything," she'd said. "We'll see," was his reply. / When Kylo Ren's Force mind-reading technique doesn't work as well on Rey as planned, he tries an alternative interrogation method.


**AN ALTERNATIVE METHOD**

* * *

 _"I'm not giving you... anything," she'd said._

 _"We'll see," was his reply._

* * *

He pushes her as hard as he can, as hard as he knows how to. Any harder, and he's sure he'd break her. Honestly, after all he'd heard about the girl — all the trouble she's caused — he'd expected her to be a little more... _something_. Extraordinary, perhaps. The only thing extraordinary about this girl is how extraordinarily plain she is.

The only problem? She's pushing back with a force that's just as strong as his... pun intended. And he's baffled as to _how_. No one resists him. _No one_. Once he finishes his training, he is to be the most powerful being in all of the galaxy. How embarrassing it'd be for him if he were to be overpowered by a lowly scavenger, much less she prove herself to be a match made equal.

So they've found themselves at an impasse. He's trying to probe her memories, and she's trying to protect them. Neither will move, and therefore, neither will succeed.

She'd let him fish around a bit before she decided to bite back. He saw a child crying in the desert and pointing up to the sky; he saw an island flush with greenery and a tall mountain peak; he felt an admiration for one B-list smuggler and a certain amount of shock due to his own appearance. He'd internally smirked at this, but he hadn't let on about it. She was expecting the scary man to be just as scary behind the mask. But instead, she thought him _handsome_.

Handsome. He could almost be tickled if it were in his nature to be such a thing.

She's struggling to hold him off. A bead of sweat trickles down her face. He thinks he might be winning. But no matter how much effort she's exerted, she does not seem to tire enough to give up. And no matter how hard he pushes, he cannot break through to her deeper consciousness.

The bead of sweat rolls over her chin.

He gets an idea. One that will probably prove itself to be one of his worst. He contemplates it for no more than a few moments before deciding... _Ehh, why not._ She does find him handsome, after all.

He moves his Force grip from her mind and instead re-focuses it on her body. He lifts her from the interrogation chair. She cannot move; her arms are stiff at her sides. Her eyes hold an incredible amount of fear.

"Don't be afraid," he coos as he holds her there in mid-air. "You're my guest."

His hand twists into a fist and he pulls it to his hip and jabs his elbow into the space behind him. Her body flies through the space between them and she slams into his chest with a dissatisfying _smack_. She quakes with fear.

But fear is not what he feels when he kisses her.

He'd intended it to be a tactic used to enable her vulnerability so he could access her memory and pick out the one image he wanted. What he hadn't accounted for — which, in hindsight, he really ought to have — was the light. The warmth from the light that she brings. It radiates through her skin and infects him even through the protective shade of his cloak. With eyes closed, he sees no darkness, only lightness. He has firsthand knowledge of how she is strong with the Force, but he'd never have imagined it'd be flowing through her like a living being, all the little particles of the light.

She is the very thing that he has so desperately been trying to drain from his system.

* * *

Perhaps both more confused and terrified than she has ever been in all her years, she finds the strength within her to shove him off of her. Ill-prepared and unsuspecting, the motion brings him slack against the wall with a dissatisfying _thwack_.

He stares at her, but not the murderous stare from before. This one is more... curious, perhaps. His mouth hangs open like a child who has just seen, for the first time, a new species that did not inhabit his home planet.

Maybe the strangest thing of all was how she'd been able to read his mind. His unprecedented action had rendered the tables turned. She saw a dark-haired boy in the throes of prepubescence, eyes clenched shut in concentration and practicing a skill of some kind while a hooded man with a robot hand watched on. She felt a devastating amount of doubt and a surprisingly low self-importance. She felt loneliness and destruction and hatred and anger and fear... Fear that he'll never be as strong or as powerful or as important or as _feared_ as Darth Vader.

But even stranger still was the connection she'd felt. It had been sharp, and it had been unexpected, and it had been enormously and monstrously _there_.

He remains plastered to the wall, and she isn't sure whether it's of her volition or of his own. What will happen if she tries to make a run for it? Will he lunge for her? Will he pull out his saber? Will he slice her in half? Has he already taken the map — the only thing ensuring her survival? She doesn't know if she'd be able to feel him take it or not if she isn't consciously trying to keep him out.

And then he's pushing himself off the wall and marching towards her, his footfall making a mighty sound. She stills, frigid and solid to the ground, and she's not sure whether it's of his volition or of her own. When he reaches her, he stops. He looks down upon her menacingly from his towering height. This is the end; she can feel it. The wetness fills her eyes and she looks up at him, her stance steadfast but her pulse pleading.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

* * *

She is so small, so delicate. He feels like he could break her just by pinching her between his thumb and forefinger. He finds it infuriating.

"I haven't decided yet," he answers truthfully.

He watches while she hesitates, clearly deciding whether to run or not.

He smirks.

She hurriedly puts her hands on each side of his face, the tips of her middle fingers touching his dewy temples. She stands on her toes at ten percent and hurriedly brings him down ninety.

* * *

This time when he meets her kiss, she tries to use the Force to persuade him. _You will not kill me. You will not kill me. You will not kill me._

It doesn't work.

* * *

He feels her in his head. She must think herself exceptionally clever. He has to give her points for trying.

He peels her from him, lifts her into the air once more by a simple raise of his arm. He tightens the air around her neck and uses it to hold her up. Her hands rise to her neck and grasp at the air there. She is gasping.

He positions her at a horizontal angle above the interrogation chair. He releases her and she falls into the metal with a dissatisfying _thud_. With a final swish of his hand through the air, the metal cuffs close around her wrists.

She narrows her eyes at him. If looks could kill.

"Well, this has been fun," he says flippantly. Spinning on his heels, he retrieves his helmet. "I'll get the map one way or another. I can assure you of that."

He leaves the room.

He doesn't exhale until he has turned down the nearest hallway.

* * *

She doesn't inhale until he's gone.

* * *

 _Fin._


End file.
